Catch Twenty-Two (Westover Prep 2)

I hear my name called twice as I make my way across the fairgrounds, but I don’t even slow my steps. The rage I’m feeling right now will easily spew over if I don’t find a way to get myself under control.

“Zeke!”

It’s Frankie’s voice this time, but I ignore her, too.

Even out in the open, I feel like a caged animal, a raging beast ready to tear into anyone with the simplest provocation. I hate being this guy, but it seems he’s who I’ve become.

“Zeke!” Frankie yells again as she runs to catch up with me. “Quit ignoring me!”

I spin around the second I feel her fingers clamp over my arm.

“What do you want, City Girl?”

“Why are you acting like this?” Tears pool on her lower lashes, but she blinks them away.

“Like what?”

“Like we didn’t just… like the stuff in the haunted house didn’t happen,” she whispers, her eyes darting around to make sure no one’s listening. We’ve made it close to the truck, so there’s a good chance we’re alone.

“Oh, but it did, City Girl.” I hate the sound of the nickname on my lips. “And it was a mistake.”

“A m-mistake?” Her chin quivers, and I fight the urge to reach out for her.

Fuck, why is she so hard to resist?

“Tell me, City Girl, how many boys have you let inside of you?”

“What?” she snaps. “I’ve nev—”

“Ten? Twenty?” I interrupt. “How many guys have you spread open for like that?”

“I haven’t.” She takes a step back, pure disgust registering on her pretty face.

“You must’ve. It was too easy to get my hands on your pussy.”

Her face pales, and the tears she was holding back now make hot trails down her face.

Keep looking at me like that, sweetheart. The next time I try to hurt you, steel that spine and walk away. It’s killing me, too.

“Yo, Zeke!” Unable to look at her pain any longer, I turn my eyes to Paul’s voice. “Wanna go to the field with us?”

The field is a secluded stretch of land on a gravel road not traveled very often. During football season, it’s where we go to party and blow off steam. It seems like the perfect thing for tonight.

“Here.” I reach into my jeans and pull out my keys, tossing them to Frankie.

Surprisingly she catches them, but her mouth is gaping open when I walk away toward Paul’s Jeep. Jason is in the passenger seat and the three girls from earlier are in the back.

I hoist my body into the back, pulling a giggling Cheryl onto my lap so there’s enough room for all of us.

“Don’t wreck my truck, City Girl,” I call out as Paul drives off.Chapter 20Frankie

My mouth is gaping open at his audacity as I watch the Jeep’s taillights disappear down the road.

I just experienced the biggest sexual encounter of my life and yet here I stand without him, without the warmth of his hands, or the fire I catch burning in his eyes when he looks at me.

I have my escape, the keys he so carelessly tossed in my direction before pulling that pretty girl onto his lap, and yet I’m frozen solid, unable to wipe the tears away as they begin to run down my face.

“Did that really happen?” I ask out loud on a ragged sob.

“He’s a fool.”

I dash my tears away before turning toward the familiar voice. Rowdy is standing to the side, his handsome face marked with a frown. I hate that someone else is witnessing my pain. I hate that I shared something so intimate with Zeke. But, most importantly, I hate myself for allowing him to hurt me again.

“It’s nothing,” I lie, trying my best and failing to give him a reassuring smile.

“Some people enjoy hurting others.”

“Hurt people, hurt people,” I mutter, suddenly feeling like a fool for making an excuse for Zeke’s actions even after the reprehensible way he just treated me.

“Frankie.” The caring tone in his voice only renews my tears.

“It’s fine,” I lie again.

“No, it’s not, but he’s young and immature. You honestly need someone who knows how to treat a woman.”

“Let me guess, you’re that man?”

His eyes light up as he releases a soft chuckle, but he doesn’t answer me. We’re friends. We’ve been chatting and sharing and getting to know each other since he arrived at the ranch. I don’t get the vibe that he wants more than that, but I’ve never been the greatest at judging people, having spent more time avoiding social situations because they always tend to lead to me being insulted or treated poorly.

I hate that I’ve become a punching bag, and I can’t help but wonder if this is who I am, as if I have an aura around me that’s begging people to treat me poorly.

“Hey, babe.” I take a sidestep in front of Rowdy, my eyes darting to the approaching man. His eyes widen when he sees me. “Oh, shit.”